Dad looked at her for a second like he honestly didn’t recognize the woman talking to him.
Not angry. Just tired.
One of my stepbrothers was already carrying framed photos toward the hallway while the other kept talking about “maximizing space” like they were renovating a rental property.
Dad took another sip of coffee.
Then he asked my stepmother something so quiet I almost missed it.
“You already promised them the upstairs, didn’t you?”
Nobody answered right away.
That was answer enough.
My stepmother finally crossed her arms and said, “We’re trying to think ahead for everybody.”
Dad nodded slowly like he’d expected that.
Then he surprised all of us.
He laughed.
Not loudly. Just this short exhausted laugh into his coffee cup.
“You know what’s funny?” he said. “I built this house before any of you were around. And somehow I’m the guest now.”
One stepbrother started getting defensive immediately, talking about stress and recovery and how nobody was taking anything from him.
Dad didn’t even look at him.
He just reached over beside the phone book and slid a yellow envelope across the table toward my stepmother.
I recognized the law office name instantly. Dad had driven there Thursday and told me he was “handling paperwork.”
My stepmother stopped touching the envelope the second she saw the letterhead.
Dad finally stood up then. Slow, careful, but steadier than I’d seen him in months.
“The doctor says I’m sick,” he said. “Not dead.”
Nobody moved.
Then he looked at the trash bags sitting by the front door.
“And before anybody decides where I’ll be sleeping,” he said, “you should probably know this house isn’t part of my estate anymore.”
My stepbrother actually laughed at first.
Until Dad added:
“It was transferred Friday morning.”
The whole room went silent after that.